


Strife from the Furthest Prime

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-10
Updated: 2007-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Qua cursum ventus:the course lies as the wind blows. In a post-apocalyptic, post-War world, Ron and Bill are survivors, hidden in the Burrow. When Harry unexpectedly appears, the winds of change prove devastating.





	Strife from the Furthest Prime

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: The title of this story comes from a line in the poem "The Cloud Confines," by Dante Gabriel Rosetti.  
My heartfelt gratitude to Wolfiekins, Callum and MatildaBishop for their insightful betas. Deep, deep thanks to Wolfie and Callum especially who read this in bits and snatches along the way and gave me supportive commentary. Hugs to you all, luvs. Written for triatha_ron, team slash, with a prompt of "red."  


* * *

The trees moaned as their branches were tugged by a malevolent current. Ron had come outside at the odd noise, and it took him a while to become convinced it really was only the eerie sound of the wind carding its fingers through the nearby copse. He shivered, clenching his jaw to try and keep his teeth from chattering. A cigarette found its way into his fingers and he lit it without consciously thinking what he was doing. He took a deep drag, his gaze drawn to the glowing tip. By turns he was hypnotised by the flare as he inhaled, and then the slow smouldering as it simply burned, inert in his chapped knuckles.

The irony had not been lost on him that he'd only taken up smoking once he'd discovered that the world as he knew it had gone up in flames. His past, his naïveté, his capacity for hope— all had been incinerated in the burning, ravenous Muggle apocalypse that had consumed so much of England. It had happened mere days before the expected final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, the forces of good making a last stand against the ever-growing dark. Muggle biological warfare proved to be nightmarishly effective in destroying the Dark Lord and his minions, as well as two-thirds of the British Wizarding population.

Ron's fringe blew into his eyes and he pulled his hair behind his ears. Across the unkempt lawn, he still heard the threnody of wind as it rushed through the birches and evergreens. He finished his fag, grinding it into the earth with his heel before looking up. Brittle stars dotted the expanse, encouraging Ron's nihilistic thoughts and his seeming insignificance in the world. Through unorthodox means, Bill had mostly cured him of his self-destructive tendencies. Ron would never forget the look of utter fury in Bill's gold-flecked eyes when he'd placed the handle of their mother's sharpest cutting knife in Ron's hand, daring him not to do it, or lined up the short convoy of potions bottles whose contents would kill Ron, each in its own way. When furious, the scars on Bill's face stood out in lurid contrast to his pale skin, and the crisscrossed markings on Ron's bicep seemed to throb a bit in sympathy. Ron had managed to keep his sanity and shite together for a couple of months now, despite not knowing why he bothered. Well, he did know, but it was due to something outside of him, a fraternal love that had flared to life in defiance of all that had been ripped so savagely from them.

A violent gust of wind hit him, jolting him back to the present. He rubbed at the goosebumps that rose up on his arms underneath his jumper and heavy coat. With a last glance at the unnatural rosy hue that always hung above the horizon, he plodded back to the Burrow. He needed to check in on their unexpected guest, to convince himself that the impossible really had happened, that the dead walked. Placing his hand against the door, he disarmed the convoluted wards and went inside.

* * * * *

"Don't you think Harry should be released from the _Somnambulus_?"

Lying in the hot water of the bathtub, Ron considered Bill's question.

"Well, I don't like keeping him comatose, but the Burrow might end up nothing but a pile of rubble if he has another fit like he did that first night. Not that I think your structural enhancement spells are sub-par or anything, but Harry's wild magic can be pretty fucking destructive."

Bill nodded, idly playing with the leather strip at the end of the narrow plait that hung over his shoulder. "True enough. I could put a containment spell on the room, and hopefully keep any accidental damage he might do to a minimum. I just think we need to be able to talk to him. He's been out there all this time…"

"He's absolutely barking," Ron said. He sat up to retrieve a bar of soap, turning it in his hands until he had enough lather to begin washing under his arms. "Don't know that any conversation we have with him right now is going to do any of us any good." He rinsed the suds from his armpits, moving on to try and clean his back.

"I'll do it."

"Thanks." Ron handed the bar to his brother, leaning forward to let Bill gently run soapy hands over him from his neck to the base of his spine. Helping each other bathe was second nature to him now, as were so many other things he would have considered freakish or perverse before.

Ron's back was rinsed, and the soap returned. Bill sat back in his chair, watching Ron soap up a flannel and tend to his inner thighs, cock and arse. It wasn't erotic, not yet, but Ron felt a thin shudder of arousal as he washed himself under Bill's intense, possessive gaze. Sometimes he felt trapped by Bill's attentions, even harbouring deeply-hidden fear. For the most part, Ron suppressed his unease except when he looked in Bill's eyes and sensed the wolf behind them; in those rare moments, he felt that he was neither brother nor lover, but prey. Now, however, Bill's gaze held no scrutiny, only the usual protective gratitude that bathed Ron whenever he felt Bill's eyes on him. It was comforting, reassuring, having reawakened long buried memories of being cared for and tended to by his much older brother when he'd been very young.

"Think I'm becoming a prune," Ron said ruefully. Bill smiled and tugged a maroon towel off of a nearby rack as Ron pulled the plug.

"See you in the kitchen," Bill said, holding out the luxurious dark red cotton until Ron stood up and stepped over the rim and onto the floor. It had been Ron's favourite towel ever since Bill had sent a set from Egypt many years ago, probably because it reminded him of their family holiday to that foreign country, as well as the exotic smells and tastes.

"Okay."

Ron rubbed himself dry, feeling a bit self-conscious under Bill's attentive gaze. He finished drying off as he watched Bill leave the room and heard him pad down the stairs. They had a glass or two of scotch nearly every night, one ritual of many that had been enacted since they'd sought sanctuary here. Sequestered away in the Burrow, they were the last surviving Weasleys. Their fiery bloodline would come to its end with Bill and him, the oldest and youngest brothers. Now they shared everything, physically at any rate. Ron dressed himself in his father's flannel pyjamas, pausing in front of the mirror to run his fingers through his shaggy hair before tracing the long scar that traversed the left side of his face. He thought of Harry, of the bathwater flooding with red when he'd washed Harry's multiple gashes, somehow still unhealed and bleeding. Bill had managed to spell them all closed.

"You're pretty fucked up," he said to himself in the mirror, grimacing at what he perceived as an unhandsome face. He smoothed down his unruly eyebrows, again thinking of his best friend, the would-have-been saviour of the Wizarding world, now seemingly insane, or well on his way there. "Hope Harry doesn't bring the house down when we wake him up," he muttered before making his way down to the kitchen.

Bill sat at the table, his hands cradling the glass in front of him, lost in rumination. A bottle of Laphroaig and second tumbler was across from him at Ron's usual seat. Ron poured a healthy measure, but remained standing as he took two deep swallows. The peaty liquid had a mellow burn Ron had grown to appreciate and he savoured the earthy flavour it left on his palate.

"Think I may just go to bed," Ron said into the hush of the room, his ear attuned to the grumbles of the house and the pattering of rain.

Bill looked up at his words, worry etched in his expression. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked before finishing his drink and reaching over to pour himself another half-glass.

"Yeah. Just thought I'd read. Try to focus on something. You know," he said lamely. He'd read and reread the same few chapters of a book on Abstrusology, struggling to be more useful. He understood the underlying concepts surprisingly well, but the finer points eluded him, making him frustrated at himself. It wasn't as though he'd ever been a stellar student. On occasion, though, Bill would ramble on about different curse-breaking techniques and Ron wanted to really understand what he was going on about. When they did on occasion venture out into their former haunts, foraging and gauging how much chaos still reigned out in the cities and towns, invariably they came across undetonated curse- and hex-laden objects. Bill considered each one to be a learning opportunity, though Ron had resisted such schooling at first. An unfortunate experience with a blistering hex had convinced him to get his head out of his arse and pay attention; even Bill's impressive healing skills hadn't been able to fully remove all of the scarlet welts sprinkled on Ron's calves and thighs.

The truth was, Ron wanted to take a full glass of the potent scotch upstairs, drink it quickly to feel its effects, and have Bill come up soon after. He wanted Bill's deft hands and tongue to wander over his skin, stroking and licking, covering his body like a living blanket. Ron would be filled so deeply, so boldly, the feelings delicious and incestuous. Being fucked and loved and cherished made him want to keep on living after the horrors he'd experienced. The fact that it was Bill, whom he'd always looked up to and regarded through the rosy hue of hero worship, made the sensations all the more addictive. There wasn't anyone else around to tell him his feelings and responses to his brother's touch were wrong, or that their sweaty entanglements were something to be ashamed of or condemned. Had anybody come along and said so, Ron would've told them to fuck off, and then probably would have thrown in a disemboweling curse for good measure.

Bill was appraising him when Ron brought himself back into the moment at hand. "I'll be up in not too long," he promised, as though reading Ron's mind. He smiled gently, the jagged marks on his face crinkling as he did.

"Good."

Ron knew he needn't say any more than that. He refilled his glass, leaving the bottle close to Bill's arm. He made his way upstairs, going all the way up to his old room for a smoke. The garish maroon walls formerly covered by Cannons posters that had bothered everyone but himself and Harry calmed Ron down, warming his spirit despite the chill from having the window open a few inches. He sat with his feet propped up on the windowsill, ankles crossed and his ashtray in his lap. The scotch never left his hand. Ron's thoughts meandered as he considered the different spaces in the house, the doors kept shut and some charmed to stay open. They'd started out in separate rooms, but it hadn't lasted for long. The memories were suffocating, pushing Ron to seek solace in his brother's embrace and then on his back, sweaty and carnal. They’d only spent one night together in Bill's four-poster, as Bill craved a neutral set of walls, and Ron felt haunted. Now they slept in what had been Percy's room, the only one not full of residual energy, benevolent or otherwise. The room called to him as he stubbed out the fag and shut the window. He hastily cast a _Nox_ on his lamp and headed for the second floor.

He had only just finished his drink and burrowed under the covers with his book in front of his face when Bill came in. A slow burn of anticipation pooled in his groin at the rustling sound of Bill shedding his clothes. They didn't have sex every night, or even close to it. Mostly it was the warmth and security of being together and whole that Ron needed more than anything. Tonight, though, he was up for much more than that. As Bill spelled out the light and lit a smattering of candles in its place, Ron knew that Bill had intuited his wishes, probably smelling the desire on him. Fenrir's maulings had caused Bill to become a bona fide werewolf, and his sense of smell was keen like a canine's. Beyond the obvious downside, it also meant that Ron couldn't hide any strong emotions from him.

Bill slid into the bed and Ron shut his book, placing it on the bedside table with a quiet thud. He turned over, eagerly anticipating Bill's wide fingers and enthusiastic mouth. Ron had figured out back at the end of his sixth year that he fancied blokes, but he'd certainly not thought about Bill or any of his brothers in that way. Well, he'd kept his occasional surreptitious oglings of Bill's lean but muscled physique to himself, at least until they'd found themselves together, and alone.

"C'mere," Bill said, his voice husky and rich.

Heat coiled in Ron's cock as Bill sent his hand underneath the waistband of Ron's pyjamas to grasp at the stiffening shaft. Ron licked around Bill’s lips, shifting so he could knead at Bill’s naked, narrow arse. Pleasure thrummed along his veins, settling in his prick as it was expertly wanked.

“Feels so good,” Ron said, the words rumbled against the three-day’s bristle on Bill’s jaw.

“Hope so.”

Ron smiled into the stubbled skin, pulling off his pyjamas before tugging Bill over so his brother lay on top of him. Bill ground his erection against Ron's, giving him a wicked smirk when Ron moaned at the delicious friction. In the past, Ron had come from just that, the curtain of Bill's flaming hair swinging about his face as he thrust against Ron at a frenzied pace. Now, however, Ron planned to savour the thick cock and pendulous balls currently rutting into his pelvis. He kissed Bill deeply, his tongue sliding into Bill's mouth. Bill tasted of fiery scotch and a lingering flavour of ginger.

"Wanna suck you," Ron gasped after a few moments, breaking off the kiss.

"You know I won't turn you down," Bill said, lightly drawing a finger down Ron's cheek.

Ron paused, his focus temporarily not on his throbbing cock, but on his brother's face and chest. His facial scars were deep, the puckers and grooves more devastating in appearance than rugged. Bill's build was like Ron's, with widish shoulders and prominent collarbones, though Ron was several inches taller. Despite that, Ron felt sheltered, even immature at times in Bill's presence. Just above a tawny nipple there was a crescent-shaped mark, and only a dusting of red hair which was different from Ron's more densely furred pectorals.

"Something bothering you?" Bill asked concernedly, rising up to his knees.

Ron shook his head. He rolled Bill onto his back, kissing down his pale abdomen, following the beckoning russet trail. As he inhaled the musky scent held in Bill's pubic hair, it struck Ron that, in fact, nothing about their having sex bothered him. He slept with and made love to his older brother, and he had no qualms about it whatsoever. The warm familiarity of a shared history, of _fraternity_ and _Weasley_ that pulsed in their common blood made him feel like a puzzle piece had clicked into place. Being naked with Bill, sharing every inch and secretive crevice, was a homecoming. The other men — boys, really — from his past, they seemed imaginary, wraiths who occasionally showed up in his dreams.

Except for Harry.

Ron banished the thought of his former best mate, and former lover, and set to fellating the succulent cock that bobbed in front of him. Praises and profanity flowed out of Bill's mouth like lava. Ron licked and sucked the rosy shaft, sometimes swirling around it like a lolly, sometimes lapping at the vinegary fluid seeping from the tip. He cupped and rolled the malleable skin of Bill's sac before his own cock demanded attention. Ron licked his palm and pulled up and down on his sensitive skin as he returned to sucking on Bill, while bringing himself ever closer to the perfect tension. When Bill stopped using words and only made needy, broken moans, Ron knew he was about to come. Ron let go of Bill's cock with a last slurp and Bill made a disappointed, mournful growl.

"Come on me," Ron begged, leaning over and guiding Bill's prick against his stomach as he pistoned it with his hand.

"Gods, fuck," Bill gasped. His legs jerked and his release fountained over Ron's hand, the pearly fluid slick against his belly. Ron scooped some up, putting it in his mouth with slightly tremulous fingers. A sated smile bloomed on Bill’s face as he watched Ron suck his fingers clean. Ron was desperate to come; his cock ached and he could nearly feel the orgasm in his teeth. He smeared more of Bill’s semen into his palm and fisted around his cock, pulling ferociously until the waves of ecstasy rushed out of him.

Ron slowly opened his eyes as a boneless glow seeped through him. He sank down onto his heels, unpeeling his fingers from his spent prick with a satisfied sigh. All he needed now was a thorough cleansing spell and to spoon up next to Bill before his night was complete. Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck spiked rigidly to attention. Bill’s widening eyes confirmed that something freakish and probably disturbing was going on behind him. His heart thundering, Ron forced himself to turn around.

Harry lounged in the doorway, his head tilted and a dreamy expression caressing his features.

“I’ve missed you, Ron. You’re as gorgeous as ever,” he said, his voice smoky. “I’m gonna—”

With a crash, Harry crumpled to the floor in a disjointed heap.

* * * * *

"So you and Bill are together?" Harry asked, his voice muffled against Ron's shoulder.

"Mmm hmmm." Ron held him, his fingers slowly undulating against Harry's back.

"But you're brothers," Harry said petulantly. "'S not normal."

Ron rolled his eyes. He clutched Harry closer to him, pierced by a sliver of peace to feel Harry's regular, warm breaths against the side of his neck. "There's not much of anything left I'd call normal."

It was just the two of them; Bill had returned to their bed after having a cup of tea downstairs. Ron had anchored Harry through a good half-hour of shaking once he'd come to. Ron felt like a mother comforting a child, an unexpected role given their past. He breathed in the scent on Harry's scalp, still in such a state of shock that Harry had managed to rouse himself that he felt only protectiveness. Other emotions clamoured far within him, and Ron knew they would burst out at some probably inopportune moment. For now, however, it was enough to cradle Harry in his arms, his body calmed as they lay in the warm bower of blankets.

"We don't need to talk about this yet," Ron said softly, making soothing patterns on Harry's ribs, "but at some point I'd like you to tell me where you've been, how you've survived."

Harry nodded into Ron's shoulder. "Don't know that there's much to tell. Don't remember all that much, to be honest. Eventually I just found myself walking, knowing I needed to get here. Get to you."

The first twinges of disloyalty to Bill itched in Ron's conscience. Bill was his protector, his saviour in many ways. But Harry had suddenly reappeared, and needed him, and Ron's body couldn't help but physically react to being in such close proximity to Harry's near-naked form. He'd loved Harry for years, though their fight at the beginning of the War had caused a schism so deep Ron had felt certain it could never be crossed. He'd almost been relieved to think Harry had died, his maniacal eyes and irrational, tormented surges of magic at last put to rest. Harry had, however, proven himself very much alive, if damaged and probably somewhat insane. And yet, all Ron could think of was how he wanted to kiss and make love to him, to bring him back from whatever Hades he'd been in.

Bill wouldn't take kindly to that, Ron was sure. Even so, he couldn't squelch the arousal that burned low in his groin; his skin was like a furnace everywhere he and Harry touched. Whether consciously or not, Harry was similarly affected, his half-hard erection nestled into Ron's thigh.

"Hey Harry," Ron murmured. "I don't know that I can stay here with you much longer. It's not that I don't want to take care of you, because…" his voice drifted off as Harry began rubbing languorously against him.

"Because you care about me," Harry said, mouthing breathy kisses into the juncture of Ron's neck and shoulder. He gently sucked on a patch of sensitive skin and Ron released a sigh of frustration.

Harry tugged back from Ron's arms and reluctantly Ron released him. In the dim light, Harry's pupils had adjusted so that Ron found himself gazing into an expanse of black barely ringed with green. The regular tic of Harry's pulse at his temple captured Ron's attentions for a moment, taking his thoughts back to the blood oath they'd taken early in their Horcrux search. Things had seemed so deathly serious back then, when they'd pledged themselves to each other with modified vows. The Muggle concept of blood brothers had captivated Ron. He'd become obsessed with the concept, to choose to engage in a fraternal bond, rather than the unasked-for link he had with the line of brothers before him.

"I'm here for a reason, Ron," Harry said, his voice as solemn and earnest as Ron had ever heard. "I just know that I survived all of this to be with you."

Ron looked incredulously at him, want and disbelief roiling ever closer to the point of eruption. It was too much, the conflicting flares of hope and betrayal threatening to consume him. "I think you're not quite right. Bit damaged, I just don't rightly know how yet," he said, trying to sort through his riotous thoughts.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. "I just need to learn to rein in my uncontrolled magic. You know I'm capable of that."

"Yes you are," Ron said placatingly, though his emotions were beginning to churn. "You'll also remember that despite the fact that you pledged yourself to me, within eight months you and I weren't speaking to each other. You went out of your way to be brutal. I think I only forgave you when I believed you were dead."

"I _was_ mad back then," Harry growled. The nearby candles began to flicker and a turned-over portrait frame started to shake, edging towards the floor.

"Harry," Ron said, alarmed. "Tone it down, mate. If the Burrow falls apart, we'll have no shelter. I'm surprised it's still standing, to be honest."

The energy in the room quelled considerably and Ron let out a long breath. "Thanks."

Harry nodded complacently. "I'm glad Bill took care of you. But you're meant to be mine. Always were, and you know that. Deep down, you do. Bill's your brother, for Merlin's sake!"

Ron snapped, the whirlwind of unresolved anger and defensiveness rushing out in a torrent. "Yes, he fucking is! He loves me like nobody else, not even you," he snarled, sitting up the better to be able to spit out his vitriol. Harry didn't look frightened, only surprised. "We're survivors of an apocalypse. You were gone! Hermione was gone! Mum, dad, the whole bloody Order with only a couple of exceptions, and even then I couldn't find them after a couple of days. Almost nobody was left, not even the fucking Death Eaters. I wanted to die, for it to be over for me, too. But Bill wouldn't let me. Wouldn't give up on me. He didn't abandon me."

The last four words of Ron's tirade lingered in the still air. It was the crux of his fear, of the unbearable injustice Harry had executed ages before the Muggle-created nightmare had begun.

"You left me," Ron ground out through clenched teeth.

With a steady hand, Harry reached up to caress Ron's lips.

"I came back."

* * * * *

Ron pulled his leather coat tighter, bracing himself against the abusive gusts of wind. In the near distance, the Burrow hunkered against the ground as though similarly affected by the elements. To Ron's right, Bill strode defiantly through the gale. The three of them had been out foraging to the wizarding enclave of Wrenbridge Vale, though it was as desolate as any of the other hamlets they could get to on foot. Given how little the wizarding world had been able to figure out about how the deadly Muggle virus travelled and spread, Bill and Ron had heeded the panicked advice they could glean and hadn't Apparated or flown since. Evidently Harry had opted to do the same.

Hearing a noise to his left, Ron turned to see Harry mouthing something. "What?" he asked, feeling his lip crack and swearing to himself. He licked at the split, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

"I hid in the British Library," Harry said more loudly. "Down in the basement around a bunch of stored books, where I didn't have to use magic to stay out of sight. I was there for a little while, but then I'd come up to find food until I just couldn't stand the smell above ground anymore. I had to leave London."He took Ron by the arm, the gesture strangely formal. Ron could sense Bill's jealousy, nearly certain he heard an actual growl of disapproval, and shook Harry off. Seconds later, however, he turned and saw how Harry's face had shuttered. Ron's protective instincts for his former beloved garnered control. He sent out a glove-covered hand and grasped Harry's hand in his, squeezing gently before letting go. Some of the impassiveness eased away from Harry's expression."Glad you survived and made it here," Ron said. The words were simple enough, but he hoped Harry would feel the profound undercurrent to them. In the few days since Harry’s fateful arrival and his renewed claim, Ron had felt caught in an undertow, carried in an ever-strengthening tide back to him. Struggling only took him faster, inexorably pulling him despite his sturdy anchor to Bill."I want to do another auralic on you, Harry," Bill stated, his ponytail whipping red tendrils across his marred face. "And some other tests. We really can't afford for the Burrow to come toppling down because of some jealous fit of yours." His scathing words punctuated the air as they approached the Burrow. "Bill," Ron warned."No, he's right. It's fine," Harry said blithely. His face betrayed no emotion, but as Ron glanced at him, he saw rebellion flicker in his returned gaze. "We're all adult wizards. You both think I'm off my rocker. If I can convince Bill that I'm sane, maybe then we can discuss some other topics we've been avoiding." Though seemingly for Bill's benefit, Harry's commentary was said directly to Ron. For his part, Ron was exhausted, pummeled by feeling the constant yanking back and forth between the two. If there was one thing Ron wasn't anymore, it was a martyr; even thinking about it pissed him off. "Go on then," Ron grumbled. He waved them into the house, which seemed to cower as they clustered in front of the door. "Do your tests, and for Merlin's sake, get a grip. We've not survived this long to rip out each other's throats. I'm having a fucking fag. Or five."  
Harry followed Bill inside. The door slammed shut behind them, the windows rattling like chattering teeth. Ron let out a long breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"At this rate we'll all be mental soon," he said to himself, rooting through his inside pockets until he found the pack. Once one was lit, he inhaled deeply, drawing in the heated smoke and holding it for a few seconds before blowing it out. He looked out beyond the trees at the reddish clouds scuttling off above the horizon. For quite some time he stood, unfocussing his eyes so it became a hazy blur as he smoked and wondered just what on Merlin’s green earth to do. They needed each other to survive; having three people to hunt for foodstuffs and whatever else they could find of value was easier going than just two. Harry was fearless and clever; his instincts had helped them get a good fortnight's worth of supplies. He would, however, occasionally go off on tangential rants that sometimes drew Bill and Ron into conversation. Other times they were soliloquies to himself. Today's topics had included his musings about how much weight a thestral could bear, and describing at length the mossy colour of his favourite cracked marble he'd found in the Dursley's backyard when he was six.

Ron harboured righteous anger for Harry that had grown as their relationship progressed. As Ron learned more about his abusive Muggle childhood, and was witness to the taunting and alienation Harry suffered in the Wizarding world, not to mention Voldemort's repeated attacks on Harry's life, that anger burned evermore fiercely. Fate had been so unjust, so maniacally unfair to Harry, it made Ron livid. Harry now bore far more scars than just the lightning bolt on his forehead and faded message on the back of his hand. The hardship of malnutrition and disfavour were manifest in his smaller frame. He'd endured loss upon loss, as though the suffering of an essentially orphan's life wasn't enough. A few weeks before Harry had seemed to crack, abandoning Ron with a cruelty Ron hadn't believed possible, they'd huddled together in Ron's bedroll, holding each other for warmth. It was as though a dam had broken in Harry; he'd talked and talked, telling Ron about all of the little incidents that had led him to know his devotion to Ron went leagues beyond friendship. Ron had been humbled and overwhelmed. Now Harry seemed to have regressed, or perhaps by some inverse, incomprehensible experience, regained some of his innocence. Harry was nothing if not a bloody paradox. Looking up at a few rogue stars blinking sluggishly in the night sky, Ron could only marvel that Harry was there with Bill and him at all. The thought of his Harry being harmed ever again made him want to punch something.

A booming sound followed by Bill's unmistakable voice yelling obscenities caused Ron to jump in surprise. He threw down his half-finished cigarette, stamping on it as it joined the littering of white stubs, and rushed into the house. The scene that confronted him was so surreal that he stood gaping as Bill continued to shout.

"Stop it, Harry! Make it fucking STOP!"

Water rained down from the ceiling, falling in a diaphanous curtain on to the floor. It looked for all the world as though a summer shower had become lost and lodged itself in the kitchen.

"The house is sad. It's crying," Harry explained with an innocent shrug.

Ron saw that Bill's wand was aimed unwaveringly at Harry. " _Petrificus Totalus! Expelliarmus!_ " Bill roared, but the spells bounced off, deflected by a _Protego_ that Harry must have conjured. Instinctively he moved in, wiping his soggy hair out of his eyes as he cautiously approached.

"Hey, Harry, we're getting all wet here," he said, holding out his arms both to show his now-soaked coat and to see whether or not he was allowed any closer.

Harry walked over to him, sliding his arms under Ron's trench to clasp them behind his waist. He rested his head on Ron's shoulder and murmured, "So much despair." All at once he crumpled, becoming dead weight. Ron collapsed to the floor with him, twisting his knee with a cry of pain.

The indoor weather stopped. Everything was quiet save an occasional soft plash as a few last drips fell from the chair backs to a puddle under the dining room table. Ron winced as he adjusted his leg, trying gently to roll Harry on to his side.

Bill's eyes were stormy and dangerous, and Ron started in shock as he realised the full moon was two days away.

"He can't stay."

* * * * *

_"You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be doing this."_ The mantra rang in Ron's head as he walked up from the kitchen, the stairs sighing with each step of his ascent. He'd let the wolf — Bill — outside after he'd transformed, having administered yet another dose of wolfsbane from their rapidly-depleting stores. In a few months, Bill's monthly changes would be far more traumatic, but Ron couldn't bear to consider the ramifications right then. The corridors beckoned to him, guiding him to what had been the twins' room, where Harry had been staying since his unbelievable reappearance.

The door was open. Ron paused at the doorway, hovering at the threshold of the inevitable.

"You don't need to lurk. We don't have any secrets, remember?"

A rueful half-smile settled on Ron's lips as he heard Harry's voice, and he went in.

The room wasn't warm, but Harry wore only a pair of tattered standard-issue thermal leggings and a t-shirt for a band or product Ron didn't recognise. The shirt had an eye-catching print of the tread of a Muggle tyre across the chest. Ron shuddered, a sudden flash of Harry being run down in the street jumping into his mind's eye.

"I'm not dead," Harry said, his voice as warm and comforting as a cup of strong cinnamon tea.

"Harry… fuck, gods," Ron moaned, his voice cracking as he stumbled the few paces across the room. His knees had turned to jelly, but his feet were determined to carry him safely if gracelessly to where Harry sat in bed. In a smooth motion, Harry stood up and crushed Ron in an embrace before Ron's momentum sent them topping back on top of the mattress. It seemed as though Harry's fingers worked at molasses speed, but eventually he got them undressed, Ron lying on his back with Harry spread out on top of him. All Ron could manage was a litany of groans and hiccoughed gasps as his body surrendered to the familiar intimate dance of their coupling. The time they'd been apart melted away; Harry's name burbled from his lips again and again, mouthed into Harry's lips, and whispered across his tongue. In turn, Harry worshipped Ron's body, laving his neck and biting his attentive nipples until Ron growled in overwhelmed frustration. Kisses light as falling leaves traced down his scar from eyebrow to jaw as Ron basked in Harry's attentions. Eyes closed, Ron used his fingers and all of his skin to reacquaint himself with the scorching heat of his lover's body. He arched up with his pelvis the better to be branded by Harry's steely flesh, gratified to hear a catch in Harry's breath as Ron rutted against him.

From his earliest, frantic wank, it had been Harry, first and unforgettable. Tears pricked behind Ron's closed eyelids as Harry threaded their fingers together, straddling Ron's lap, the hot, papery skin sliding along Ron's erection. When he heard a self-cast lubrication spell uttered against his cheek, Ron let out a scudding sigh.

"Look at me," Harry demanded, raising himself up and releasing one of Ron's hands so he could place the head of Ron's cock at his slicked opening. Ron watched as his prick slowly pressed into the tight heat of Harry's channel, the pleasure nearly blinding. Once Harry was fully seated, Ron clenched his arse, pushing infinitesimally deeper into his beloved's body.

"Fuck me," Harry said, rising up a bit before sinking back down at a tortuous pace. "Want you so deep, been so long, so long, gods, Ron." His eyes shone with awestruck lust as he rocked back and forth. Ron groaned at the aching pleasure of his cock buried in scalding velvet. He held claw-like onto Harry's hands as he rolled them over, smothering Harry's face in desperate kisses as Harry dug his heels into Ron's back.

"Mine, Ron, Merlin, like that, yes…" Harry's words flowed into a silky stream of sibilants that made Ron cry out. He was drowning in the cascade of parseltongue; sweat broke out on his brow as he thrust savagely into Harry again and again. Harry stared wide-eyed at him, his gaze as feral as any Ron had seen in Bill's hazel eyes. Ron let his body's kinetic memory take over, angling his cock just so to the spot that caused Harry to shout and jab his heels against Ron's hips. Harry's eyes snapped shut and he clenched his fingers into Ron's, still murmuring the liquid syllables that seemed to light coals in Ron's sac and pulsed in his pistoning shaft.

"Gods, Harry," Ron choked out before claiming Harry's decadent mouth. How he'd resisted him for as many days as he had, Ron couldn't fathom. The walls seemed to swell and curve protectively around them, muffling the joyous slapping sounds of slick flesh and ravenous kisses.

Ecstasy chorused in Ron's blood and he came with a low groan, the noise swallowed by Harry's lips. Harry tore his head away, gasping as he extricated a hand to reach down and pull hard on his cock. Moments later he let out a reedy, melancholy sound as Ron felt the warm liquid spill up onto his belly. Ron collapsed onto Harry with an exhausted grunt, overwhelmed by the ferocity of their joining. Cracking open an eye at Harry's sated chuckle, Ron cried out in shock as he realised the walls had changed colour, now glowing dully in a shade of mahogany.

"I'm not doing that, not really," Harry reassured him, easing his legs down but hooking their ankles together. Ron regretfully felt his softening cock slide out and Harry adjusted their groins so they were comfortable. "I've always felt things here, though. I s'pose it can tell my thoughts now," he said contemplatively.

"Harry, that's rubbish," Ron insisted, pulling them to their sides so his heavier frame wasn't a hardship on Harry. "I've lived here my whole life and I can assure you we've never had it rain inside before. The walls didn't change colours on their own."

"Why don't you believe me?" Harry asked, his expression so open and uncluttered Ron wanted to crawl into him, to be nestled away, to be safe.

Harry's possible lunacy be damned, Harry was home for Ron, despite the fact that he'd so callously abandoned him. Harry _had_ come back. The world had canted, realigned to the reality from which Ron had felt forever sundered. The rightness of it made Ron feel sore, a newly-opened wound now finally healing.

"I guess I do, it's just all so fucked up," Ron said, nosing into Harry's riotous hair and easing into the bedlam of sheets and bedspread.

A long, lonely howl sounded off in the distance. Guilt stabbed through Ron as though the wolf had indicted him. Intuiting Ron's reaction, Harry held him tightly, murmuring words of reassurances and sanctuary even as Ron closed his eyes so tightly he saw phantom red sparks.

"I won't let him come between us," Harry promised.

Ron didn't know what to make of that; he felt both grateful and totally at odds with Harry making such a declaration. Couldn't the three of them live together in peace, even if the truce between Harry and Bill was an uneasy, awkward one? Ron fumbled with his battling loyalties, unable to resist being lulled into a light doze, secure in Harry's arms.

* * * * *

Ron was feeling quite brave, though the two tumblers of Laphroaig he'd had just before daybreak might have had a bit to do with his sense of being indomitable. Regardless, deep in his heart, he knew without a shred of doubt that his logic that he and Harry and Bill could all live together in harmony was flawless. Once Bill was cleaned up and had recuperated for a few hours, Ron would tell him about his resolutions.

He tenderly washed Bill's back, using the sandalwood soap his brother was so fond of. Bill was bowed forward, his arms drooping along his sides. Seconds after Bill had slumped against the porcelain, Ron decided he needed to wash Bill's bedraggled, knotted hair. After guiding him up and away from the edge of the tub, Ron tilted back Bill's head. He poured mugfulls of water on his head until his long hair was soaked through. While lathering shampoo into the auburn tangles, Ron took inventory of any new injuries he could see. Thankfully the wolf had stayed out of any obvious scrapes. Ron suspected he'd paced not far away from the Burrow, only visiting the nearby woods to feed on the animals who had been more brazen now that there were fewer humans around.

With sure fingers, Ron massaged the shampoo into Bill's scalp. Glancing above the wisps of steam reaching up from the water, he acknowledged the new crimson hue to the walls in the bathroom. It had begun innocently enough, he and Harry deciding to take a shower after their vigourous lovemaking. A weak frisson of desire tingled through him as he remembered what they had been doing in this very tub mere hours ago. Ron methodically rinsed out the suds from Bill's curtain of hair, unable to suppress the torrent of recent memories: water drizzling warmly on his own face; Harry's hard flesh sliding in and out of his mouth; storms of invectives and lauds tumbling from Harry's lips; Ron standing, ensnared by avid, emeraldescent eyes as Harry's hand twisted and pulled Ron's cock until he'd yelled out his tumultuous release.

A rumbling, pained sigh snapped Ron back to his task at hand. He let Bill sag boneless against the tub and retrieved the flannel, taking a few more minutes to wash his long legs and toughened feet. Once Bill was dried and helped into a pair of cotton pyjamas, Ron draped Bill's arm over his shoulder and they shuffled slowly to Percy's old room. Bill was unusually quiet, but Ron didn't feel the need to pressure him to speak. The familiar, pervasive feeling of usefulness, of being irreplaceable and treasured flared in Ron as he tucked Bill into bed. He pulled the covers closer around him, smoothing the hair behind his ear and kissing him on the cheek. Impulsively Ron tugged a blanket from a heap on the floor and wrapped it around himself, climbing behind Bill and enfolding him under knitted shelter. Bill needed him at times like this, and once the wolfsbane was gone, Ron believed fervently that his brother would look to him even more for assistance and caring. He _did_ love Bill; his compassion for Bill and his condition deepened with each slow breath. As for Harry's part in their trio, Ron would simply explain to Bill that—

"I know that you and Harry fucked," Bill said, his voice low and scratchy.

Ron's serenity shattered, the shards vivisecting him from his hoped-for peace.

"I smell it on you. You reek of sex," Bill continued.

Bill's resignation made Ron ashamed, and he gritted his teeth to keep from spouting off what would only sound like pathetic excuses for his actions.

"I hope it was worth it, fucking the person who's hurt you the most. He's a nightmare, Ron, and dangerous. I told you he can't stay," Bill said hoarsely before clearing his throat.

"I live here too!" Ron blurted out. "We're better off with three of us, you know that from how well we did in Wrenbridge. Things'll get better, you've got to believe that. We'll all get better," he said, clutching Bill tightly to his chest.

"That hurts," Bill moaned. "I'm really sore."

Ron reluctantly loosened his grip. "I won't send him away," Ron breathed against Bill's fragrant scalp. He was startled at the number of grey hairs, reminded of Lupin with a sharp pang of sorrow. "I could never turn Harry away."

"You've got some fucking nerve," Bill rasped, scooting away from Ron with difficulty.

"Give it a chance," Ron begged, pulling on Bill despite the pain he was probably causing. "You and I can still be together. It's not like all of a sudden I don't need you anymore."

"Maybe I don't want you anymore."

Bill had a coughing fit while Ron lay, paralysed, his pulse roaring. He felt flayed open, raw and exposed. "You don't mean that!" he seethed, his anger threatening to spew out of him. He kicked off the blanket and slid to the end of the bed, storming around the side to sink to his knees, facing Bill. "You don't," he insisted, looking for reassurance on his brother's weary face. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry. But it's Harry." Ron lingered over the syllables, pleading in his voice. "He was going to kill Voldemort. He was going to save everybody. He's been everything to me, until you. I'll be with both of you. It'll work out."

Ron paused, looking into Bill's eyes, hoping to find understanding. All he could see was livid disappointment before Bill's eyelids drooped shut.

"No, it won't. You should be… you deserve someone stable, some who'll protect you. Yes, I'm a werewolf, but you're a packmate to me now. I wanted to tear Harry's throat out after smelling him on you. Too tired to talk about this anymore," Bill said, shrugging further under the comforter. "Close the door when you go."

Knees creaking, Ron stood and straightened the maroon blanket. He walked quietly to the door, turning when he heard the crinkling of sheets, but Bill was merely adjusting his head on the pillow. Ron went into the corridor, pulling gently on the door until the latch snicked into place. For a few moments he leaned back against it, feeling like a Bludger, beaten and buffeted back and forth. Surely Bill only meant that he wanted to be alone for now; he couldn't have meant Ron was banished for good.

"This is hopeless," he said under his breath, rubbing at his eyes. He'd go and talk to Harry, if he was awake.

_"Let him sleep. Let them both sleep,"_ an inner voice suggested, and Ron decided that was as good advice as any. He slunk carefully down the stairs, avoiding the creaky right side of the sixth step. Once in the kitchen he retrieved the bottle of scotch. He could feel a headache coming on, but ignored it and poured himself two-thirds of a glass and sat down at the dining room table. Soon there was a lit cigarette in his fingers and his head was cradled against his palm. When the tears came, he let them slide down his cheeks unchecked, sniffling occasionally. Exhaustion finally overtook him, and he tossed back the last of his drink, stumbled over to the couch, curled up and fell asleep.

* * * * *

_A warm body, pressed up behind him; a welcome, hard line of flesh nudging against his arse. Roving fingers whispered over his stiffening nipples before the hand splayed on his abdomen, the pinky finger teasing under his waistband._

Ron eased out of his dream into consciousness. His befuddled mind dawned pleasantly to the fact that he really wasn't alone; he _was_ being fondled into wakefulness. Blearily he opened his eyes and saw the chewed fingernail beds, confirming who it was he felt spooned behind him. He rumbled contentedly and arched his hips back just slightly to let Harry know he was awake. There was an echoing hum in Ron's ear as he pulled Harry's hand away from his belly and clasped it up at his collarbone.

"Morning," Harry said softly, the hot breath tickling Ron's earlobe. "Well, noon would be more accurate."

Ron attempted to stretch before his feet jarred into the arm of the couch. He'd forgotten where he'd crashed in the early morning, though the memories of caring for Bill and their subsequent fallout came careening back.

"Hey," Ron said, turning his head slightly and earning a soft kiss on his jaw for the effort. "How long have you been down here?"

"Not long. Ten minutes, maybe." Harry wriggled suggestively into Ron's arse. "I got lonely. You should've bedded with me. There was plenty of room."

Slightly crooked teeth nibbled on Ron's ear and goose bumps rose on his arms. Harry knew all of Ron's weak spots, how to make his resolve crumble, and his cock turn to iron.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron moaned, taking Harry's hand and guiding it back down to rest between his legs.

"Waking you up," Harry purred, sliding his tongue into Ron's ear.

"I'm awake," Ron assured him, pushing into Harry's hand as his erection was palmed through his denims. "Better be careful or we'll fall off." He heard a scuttling noise and raised his head. Harry had evidently cast an expanding charm on the couch and in doing so, the coffee table had been forced across the carpet several inches.

"Now we can spread out," Harry said lasciviously, rubbing at the bulge straining against Ron's flies.

"You're insatiable," Ron said helplessly. Harry went to work divesting himself of his t-shirt and thermal leggings as Ron took off the clothes he'd slept in.

"Glad you remember." Harry knelt, poised above him. The famished look in his eyes chased away Ron's worries of Bill waking up, or of anything going amiss at least for the next little while. A fleeting thought that they were protected put Ron even more at ease; Bill would rest for hours yet, safe and warm in Percy's bed.

"Gods, Harry," Ron groaned as Harry began sucking on the head of his cock, his adept tongue flicking around to capture the fluid that seeped out of the top. Ron put his arms over his head, holding on to the arm of the couch like an anchor, planting his feet into the burgandy flowered fabric. Harry was making delighted humming sounds as he mouthed and suckled Ron's hard shaft. All Ron could do was accept his lover's attentions, thrusting into Harry's hot, debauched mouth. He let his legs fall open when Harry paused to cast a cleaning and lubrication spell, before sliding two fingers deep into Ron's channel.

"Fuck, so good," Ron panted, trying in vain to push both against Harry's hand as well as upwards while Harry slid his pink mouth up and down, sometimes scraping gently along the underside of Ron's prick with his teeth. Ron could feel his release building and hated that it was so soon, but Harry was relentless. He crooked his fingers, brushing the nerves that made Ron clench his muscles, whimpering at how bloody good it felt.

Harry sat up with a last kiss to the sensitive crown of Ron's cock and took his own erection in hand. Ron watched, mesmerised, letting his hand drift down to stroke himself, tripping on the edge of orgasm as Harry languorously wanked.

"Come for me," Harry demanded, his voice slithering over Ron like silk. Ron let out a choking gasp as he pulled vigorously on his shaft, squeezing his arse around Harry's questing fingers until the pleasure tore through his cock. He heard Harry make a heated, approving sound before feeling his lover's warm fluid fall onto his stomach.

"So gorgeous when you come," Harry said raggedly. Ron opened his eyes to see Harry milking the final sticky dribbles before sitting back on his heels with a satisfied sigh. The clever fingers slowly slid out of Ron and he frowned slightly at the ensuing emptiness. Harry looked altogether smug, a sated glow emanating from him.

"You're not a bad looker yourself," Ron said wryly, pleased at the warm smile that appeared on Harry's lips. Ron hated to ruin the moment, but he wanted to get cleaned up. "Got your wand with you?" he asked, wondering where he'd last laid his down.

"Yeah."

Harry retrieved it from the small shambles of clothing and cast a _Scourgify_ on both of them. Ron put his boxers back on, Harry his sleep clothes. He ran a hand through his hopelessly unruly hair before settling down beside Ron, who had rescued yet another of his mum's knitted blankets to drape over them. Ron felt a drop of something fall on his shin and brushed irritably at it. Then he looked at the pads of his fingers. With slow-blooming horror he jerked his gaze up to the ceiling to a crack in the plaster, and the scarlet stain above them.

"FUCK!" he yelled before he hyperventilated, wheezing and gagging as he fell off the couch in an attempt to get on his feet.

"What is it— oh!" Harry said, his eyes widening as another drop of blood fell onto the upholstery.

"Bill, oh fuckfuckfuck!" Ron cried out, nearly blind with panic and terror. His heart thundered against his ribs as he tore up the stairs to the room directly above them where Bill was sleeping. Ron threw open the door and it banged into the wall with his brute force. Bill lay on the floor in a pool of blood, a toppled quill desk set scattered around him and a letter opener protruding hideously from his arm.

Ron collapsed at his side, waving frantically behind him. " _Accio_ wand!" he screamed, leaning over and letting out a huge sob of relief when he felt Bill's breath on his cheek. When his wand smacked into the palm of his hand, he cast the fastest auralic he'd ever spoken, shuddering once he discovered how low Bill's ambric energy had ebbed. He carefully extracted the letter opener, spelling the gash closed.

"Let's get him back in bed. I've got to examine him. Bloody hell," Ron sniffed, smearing a bloody trail on Bill's cheek as he caressed his face. "How the fuck did this happen?"

"I don't understand," Harry said, helping Ron gingerly move Bill to a comfortable position on his back on top of the coverlet. "He was fine when I checked up on him."

"When you what?" Ron yelped, a violent surge of distrust ricocheting through him.

"I looked in on him. After I'd taken a piss."

Ron stared, his common sense raging against the irrational thought that Harry had caused this accident to happen. "Did you…" he whispered, unable to complete the sentence.

"No!" Harry was incensed. "I wouldn't try and fucking kill him! How could you even think that?" Magic crackled in the air as two of Percy's framed certificates of distinction fell from their hooks on the wall. Glass broke in a tinkling dirge to the floor.

"Okay! Okay." Ron's focus returned to Bill as he made a piteous moan. Bill turned his head, his eyelids fluttering open, his pupils glassy, black pools.

"Bill. It's going to be okay. You must've decided to get up and you got dizzy and grabbed at the edge of the desk and the set fell," Ron babbled. Bill's eyes closed shut again and Ron sagged into him, mumbling encouragement and succor. "Get a pitcher of water and a glass, please," Ron said. Rising up on an elbow, he looked over at Harry; every angle of his stance vibrated defensiveness. "And go down to the cellar— there's a brown flask of Sanguinary. Bring it up too, and hurry."

Harry gave him a curt nod and strode to the door, arms still crossed over his chest.

"Thank you!" Ron called out.

Harry turned, twisting his mouth to the side before chewing on his bottom lip. "You're welcome. I didn't do this. The house may have been angry at him, though," he said carelessly, turning to walk quickly out of the room.

Ron didn't have the spare energy to think about Harry's barmy comments about the Burrow. He needed to rouse Bill long enough to drink as much as possible, then get the Sanguinary in his system to hasten his blood regeneration. Only then would Ron attempt the riskiest part, a self-administered auralic transfusion. As Ron heard Harry's returning footfalls on the stairs, a wave of relief washed over him. Between the two of them, Bill could be revived and healed. He gently extricated himself, making sure not to jostle his brother. Once the pitcher, glass and flask Harry had levitated were settled securely on the bedside table, Ron gave Harry a quick hug.

"I couldn't do this without you, mate," Ron said, pulling back and placing a chaste kiss on Harry's lips.

Harry nodded distantly before gazing at Ron straight on, his intensity making Ron falter. "I'm meant to be here," Harry said, his hands gripping above Ron's elbows. "I promise I won't leave you again."

"Let's take care of Bill," Ron said, his voice cracking as it betrayed his panic.

"Okay."

* * * * *

"I'm leaving."

"No you're not!" Ron rushed at Bill, heedless of his weakened state. Bill shrugged him off, nearly toppling over as he did, but he grabbed at the doorjamb in time. "You need to let me take care of you. You're in no condition to go anywhere. You're still half dead! Gods, Bill, don't go." Ron's voice had become a deep wail. He held Bill to him, unwilling to let him loose. Bill was obviously mental; jealousy must have been the culprit. That was it. "I won't—"

"Let me go," Bill growled menacingly. Ron could hear the wolfish tone; the sense of pack and betrayal rolled off of Bill as he dug his fingers into Ron's chest and shoved him backward with surprising force.

"You'll die out there!" Ron yelled, fury stampeding through his protective instincts. "You're insane! What's your fucking problem? Don't go, you can't, I've got to take care of you, heal you…" Ron's anger subsided. Bill shook his head, pulling his winter robes more closely around him. He seemed infinitely stronger than he had any right to be, given how ashen and near death he'd been mere hours before.

"You were always my favourite, so loyal and earnest, brave, and humble," Bill said even as Ron felt Harry's arms slip around his waist from behind. Bill's eyes burned fiercely, flickering over to the traitorous crimson walls in the living room and back to Ron, where his gaze softened. "I can't not love you, Ronnie. But we don't belong here anymore; even the Burrow's turned against us. Come with me," he pleaded. "I need you. You're my only brother, Ron."

Harry's grip loosened, as though to let him go. "No, Harry." Ron interlaced their fingers, anguish threatening to unhinge him. "You'll come too. Tell him, Bill— we're better off with each other. All three of us."

Bill remained devastatingly mute, willing Ron to join him as he held out his hand.

"I'm staying." Harry's pronouncement rang in the air.

Ron had to choose. Without words, he begged Bill to stay, throwing his thoughts out wildly as though Bill were a Legilimens. Bill must have picked up on his distress, no doubt assaulted by the scent of increasing abject fear and abandonment that was spiraling out of control as Ron wavered. Heat flooded Ron all along the back side of his body where Harry held him, feelings of sanctuary and profound desire enfolding him as viscerally as Harry's wiry arms.

"Good bye, Ron," Bill said, the words a lament. He seemed to look through Ron to Harry, his gaze murderous. Ron could only stand in suffocated silence. Unblinkingly he watched as his beloved brother opened the front door and stepped through, firmly shutting the door behind him.

The solid slam of finality echoed in Ron's ears. All of his family was gone; he was the last Weasley, a fractured, freckled shadow left behind to be tended by the Burrow. And Harry. It was simply too much. His heart ripped, utter despair flooding him, a yawning galaxy of emptiness spreading out in Ron's mind's eye. He sank down to his knees, Harry joining him on the floor to cradle him. Ron pulled his knees into his chest, curling into a foetal position while Harry soothed him, the change from loving phrases to protective spells barely registering in Ron's battered mind.

All was lost— the world he'd grown up in; his school, long a pile of monstrous rubble; the wounded but sane Harry Ron had loved since he'd been capable of labeling those feelings with anything beyond best mate; and Bill, who had tethered him to the slimmest shred of hope. A bruising laugh gurgled out of him and he shook with it until he sobbed, grabbing at Harry's hands and holding them to his face. He cried until his throat was raw, the tears baptising Harry's palms and flowing down his wrists.

Eventually the rage of emotions passed. Ron released the deathgrip he'd had on Harry and shakily got to his feet. He felt eerily calm, as though he were watching himself, having been sundered from the troubled ginger-haired man that shuffled into the kitchen. He opened the pantry and took out a half-full bottle of scotch, picked up the crumpled box of cigarettes, and began slowly to climb the stairs to his room. Harry followed, a benevolent presence that Ron welcomed. Everything else fell away; he didn't bother to grasp at memories and visions that clamoured at him. He was a blank slate, an empty husk.

He sat down, pulling a fuchsia blanket around him and took several swallows of the scotch from the bottle. Harry curled up at his feet, holding on to Ron's legs, occasionally reaching up to drink some of the alcohol himself. Ron smoked for a long time until the pack was gone, idly massaging Harry's head through the mop of hair. He heard Harry speak, but he let the words drift by, incomprehensible. When he'd finished the bottle, Ron slid off the chair to the floor, smiling faintly as Harry stood over him, tugging him back up to unsteady feet.

"Come to our bed," Harry insisted. Once he made it down to the twins' old room, Ron fell on to the bedspread, letting Harry cover him up as he sank gratefully into oblivion.

* * * * *

Harry was humming out of tune, but Ron didn't mind. Harry adored him, took care of him, and bathed him. Bit of a pervy bastard, and that suited Ron quite well. Ron had grown accustomed to his companion's idiosyncrasies, like the fact that Harry kept moving the bathtub into different rooms in this large house with its lurid walls. All of the walls were red; an odd choice, or so a niggling thought suggested to Ron on occasion. He tended to ignore the troubling thoughts, as he disliked feeling uncomfortable. Certain flashes of dreams or odd memories definitely made him distressed.

They had a good routine, he and Harry. He wasn't entirely sure what had gone on before, but Harry reassured him that he'd done nothing wrong, and they'd been together for a very long time, since they were teens. That felt true to Ron. He preferred not to ask too many questions, and Harry seemed to prefer that he didn't, so that added to the harmony of their days.

Ron tilted his head against the porcelain rim of the bathtub, looking into Harry's handsome face as Harry lathered the flannel and washed his chest.

"Love you," Ron said, sighing contentedly.

"I'll always be yours," Harry replied.  
  
 **..:~:..**


End file.
